writing
This is actually a repost from yesterday because I deleted this by accident. Anyway, it's Seraph's voice again, speaking of her convoluted family tree. It's been so long since I've written about her. This is really just a way to get re-acquainted with her.
I'm going to see if I can do some more now. :)
During the last year of Mama’s life, she worried incessantly. In fact, that’s what I think killed her- the worry ate at her until there was nothing left. She was a ghost of a woman by the time she died, and it was all my fault. In those last days, she chattered to me endlessly about dragons and shinigami, and the millions of ways a death god could take away the life of a half breed, eight year old girl. She talked about other things too, things any psychiatrist would lock her away for.
But they didn’t know any better. I did. There’s so much I wish I could unlearn, but it’s impossible to forget now. I can still see those dragons that my mother fretted about. I can see small cracks in the earth that will one day open up and swallow and passersby at the right moment. I see fault-lines in people, time bombs inside them, ticking off their minutes to set off heart attacks. I see all the worries tucked carefully in the wrinkles of people’s brains, feeding off of their dark secrets, one day to explode and cause a stroke. I see it all.
“You were not born like other girls,” Mama always told me, “a death god came down from Heaven and gave you to me.” This she reminded me every day.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Mama was only fourteen when she had me, but I was not her first child.
The first was Hadron, my half-brother whom I would not meet until years later, because “his father took him,” or so Mama said. Hadron was the first half-breed to be born in about a million years or something. Of course I’m exaggerating- I’m not exactly sure how long, but it was a long time. My mother never spoke of him, except to say that he was "a very bad boy."
There were two half-breeds born a year after him, but they were not my Mama’s children. We shared the same father; therefore we shared the same shinigami side, that side that craved and loved death. Despite that bond, they hated me, even after my many attempts to get on their good side. They visited every lunar new year, and I gave them gifts of little cakes and sent them little letters inside of red envelopes that I made by hand. Apparently, it wasn’t enough, because they wouldn’t speak two words to me. I don’t know why. Father had acknowledged them and given them their real shinigami names, but he barely knows that I exist, so I don’t think it had anything to do with sibling rivalry. Besides, both of the girls were gorgeous, and I was just Seraph, the fourth child.
They were beautiful twin girls, named Milk and Bride. Where Milk had the palest violet eyes, Bride had dark, and where Milk had hair of the lightest blonde, Bride’s was a deep, silky jet black that I longed to brush and let trickle through my fingers.
Milk always wore frilly black dresses and dark gloves that covered her arms. Everyone made a fuss over her when she had to go outside, covering her face with a veil and making her carry a cute black parasol with pink lace trimming. And Bride would wear all white. “Look at those beautiful girls! What sweet little dolls!” everyone would exclaim.
However, nobody ever said anything of the sort about me. People only loved me because I could play piano and I could make them money, and they sent me on planes around the country so that people could watch me play. But Mama would never let me wear a frilly dress like Milk’s or Bride’s. “Too showy,” she said with a proud toss of her head. “What if you attract a bad man to you? It’s better to be simple and elegant, just like me. You don’t need to be like your sisters. They’re all just-for-show. They’re true shinigami children. They’ll lure men to their deaths. But you, Seraph....” She frowned, and all of her worry-lines deepened. “It’s best not to mess with your luck.”
I was the fourth half-breed to born to Whoever-Our-Father-Is. “Number four child, so unlucky,” Mama always murmured. Because of this, I am still constantly plagued by grief and guilt. All of us were flawed- my brother for his cruelty, Milk for her frailty, Bride for her selfishness, and me just for the simple fact of being born fourth, the number that represents death.
One time Mama came into my room late at night when I was pretending to be asleep. I heard her walk to my bed, and she stood there for a long time. I felt her eyes watching me. “Don’t worry, my little Seraph,” she whispered. “Even though you were the least wanted... You are the most loved. “
And that was the thought that killed my mother. I was the fourth child, the unlucky one, and every moment of her remaining life, she tried to keep all bad luck away from me. She tried so hard, that it just wore her out. I was too much of a burden to her, and then one day all of her worries exploded in her brain and killed her.
Actually, it was a simple traffic accident that killed her, but if she hadn’t been so worried about me and came running after me, it would never have happened.
My mother’s worry had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was really was an unlucky child, and ultimately I brought her nothing but grief and death.
So, there’s really not much to tell after that. I continued to play piano because that’s what she would have wanted. People worried that because of Mama’s death, that I wouldn’t want to play anymore, but in truth, it was the only thing I had left of Mama. Piano, and her Notebook. And in fact, there was a brilliance and bounciness in my playing that wasn’t there before. The pain brought me wisdom, and every note I played was like a prayer to her.
Shinigami are silent about what happens to human’s souls after they perish. Some claim ignorance, while others speak in hushed voices about worlds that existed long ago, about rivers that souls cross to find rest. But most of them claim that no such thing exists.
That’s why I decided to find out for myself.
And then I met my brother...
And discovered what pain really was.
I'm going to see if I can do some more now. :)
During the last year of Mama’s life, she worried incessantly. In fact, that’s what I think killed her- the worry ate at her until there was nothing left. She was a ghost of a woman by the time she died, and it was all my fault. In those last days, she chattered to me endlessly about dragons and shinigami, and the millions of ways a death god could take away the life of a half breed, eight year old girl. She talked about other things too, things any psychiatrist would lock her away for.
But they didn’t know any better. I did. There’s so much I wish I could unlearn, but it’s impossible to forget now. I can still see those dragons that my mother fretted about. I can see small cracks in the earth that will one day open up and swallow and passersby at the right moment. I see fault-lines in people, time bombs inside them, ticking off their minutes to set off heart attacks. I see all the worries tucked carefully in the wrinkles of people’s brains, feeding off of their dark secrets, one day to explode and cause a stroke. I see it all.
“You were not born like other girls,” Mama always told me, “a death god came down from Heaven and gave you to me.” This she reminded me every day.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Mama was only fourteen when she had me, but I was not her first child.
The first was Hadron, my half-brother whom I would not meet until years later, because “his father took him,” or so Mama said. Hadron was the first half-breed to be born in about a million years or something. Of course I’m exaggerating- I’m not exactly sure how long, but it was a long time. My mother never spoke of him, except to say that he was "a very bad boy."
There were two half-breeds born a year after him, but they were not my Mama’s children. We shared the same father; therefore we shared the same shinigami side, that side that craved and loved death. Despite that bond, they hated me, even after my many attempts to get on their good side. They visited every lunar new year, and I gave them gifts of little cakes and sent them little letters inside of red envelopes that I made by hand. Apparently, it wasn’t enough, because they wouldn’t speak two words to me. I don’t know why. Father had acknowledged them and given them their real shinigami names, but he barely knows that I exist, so I don’t think it had anything to do with sibling rivalry. Besides, both of the girls were gorgeous, and I was just Seraph, the fourth child.
They were beautiful twin girls, named Milk and Bride. Where Milk had the palest violet eyes, Bride had dark, and where Milk had hair of the lightest blonde, Bride’s was a deep, silky jet black that I longed to brush and let trickle through my fingers.
Milk always wore frilly black dresses and dark gloves that covered her arms. Everyone made a fuss over her when she had to go outside, covering her face with a veil and making her carry a cute black parasol with pink lace trimming. And Bride would wear all white. “Look at those beautiful girls! What sweet little dolls!” everyone would exclaim.
However, nobody ever said anything of the sort about me. People only loved me because I could play piano and I could make them money, and they sent me on planes around the country so that people could watch me play. But Mama would never let me wear a frilly dress like Milk’s or Bride’s. “Too showy,” she said with a proud toss of her head. “What if you attract a bad man to you? It’s better to be simple and elegant, just like me. You don’t need to be like your sisters. They’re all just-for-show. They’re true shinigami children. They’ll lure men to their deaths. But you, Seraph....” She frowned, and all of her worry-lines deepened. “It’s best not to mess with your luck.”
I was the fourth half-breed to born to Whoever-Our-Father-Is. “Number four child, so unlucky,” Mama always murmured. Because of this, I am still constantly plagued by grief and guilt. All of us were flawed- my brother for his cruelty, Milk for her frailty, Bride for her selfishness, and me just for the simple fact of being born fourth, the number that represents death.
One time Mama came into my room late at night when I was pretending to be asleep. I heard her walk to my bed, and she stood there for a long time. I felt her eyes watching me. “Don’t worry, my little Seraph,” she whispered. “Even though you were the least wanted... You are the most loved. “
And that was the thought that killed my mother. I was the fourth child, the unlucky one, and every moment of her remaining life, she tried to keep all bad luck away from me. She tried so hard, that it just wore her out. I was too much of a burden to her, and then one day all of her worries exploded in her brain and killed her.
Actually, it was a simple traffic accident that killed her, but if she hadn’t been so worried about me and came running after me, it would never have happened.
My mother’s worry had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was really was an unlucky child, and ultimately I brought her nothing but grief and death.
So, there’s really not much to tell after that. I continued to play piano because that’s what she would have wanted. People worried that because of Mama’s death, that I wouldn’t want to play anymore, but in truth, it was the only thing I had left of Mama. Piano, and her Notebook. And in fact, there was a brilliance and bounciness in my playing that wasn’t there before. The pain brought me wisdom, and every note I played was like a prayer to her.
Shinigami are silent about what happens to human’s souls after they perish. Some claim ignorance, while others speak in hushed voices about worlds that existed long ago, about rivers that souls cross to find rest. But most of them claim that no such thing exists.
That’s why I decided to find out for myself.
And then I met my brother...
And discovered what pain really was.